The gate buzzer goes off, so I get up and look at the monitor...
For a long second, I actually wonder if I'm dreaming.
But I open the gate, and he strides right in. Like a wolf. The most wolflike human I've ever met. His face has the same feral leer. Beady little blue eyes.
He actually came back.
Muscles, everywhere. I know. Perfect anatomy quivering from the stroke of a feather. Oil shining on those thighs. The feel of latex, sliding easily. And the laughter. Oh, fuck. Some kind of hybrid growling, keening, hee-hawing noise that makes my dick hard. I'm talking about sounds that lack any trace of civilization. Kittery laughter. Nobody's howls get me more excited.
Jag. Back, again.
He's looking at me, as he walks up.
Smiling, he shows me his teeth.
I follow him inside - that ass! Firm little brushes, and plenty of liquid detergent, cause the most astounding reaction from down there. And the laughter!
As soon as I shut the door, and turn around -
He jumps me. Hugging. So hard.
"Kit, T-shell," he murmurs in my ear. "You're doomed."
"Kit kit." I squeeze Jag - and it's like holding a wolverine - until I hear him grunt. Just a little friendly suffering, from you to me, I think. Wait until I get you strapped down. Oh yeah.
"You think so, huh?"
"Kit kit kit," I mumble.
And he laughs. "Gonna kit your ass into the stratosphere. I've been dreamin' about what I'm gonna do to your feet."
We both laugh. I think about how he's goin' down, and he thinks the same about me. Dark kit-thoughts. It's sweet.
Finally, we back away - still holding each other's arms, as if the other guy was about to get busy, right there. But we know better than that. Not yet. He's a old hand at this.
Seeing him, standing in here, is just the best thing that could've happened today.
"Thought you were gonna get away?," I say, sticking out my tongue a little.
"I almost did," he shoots back, all smug. "Got all the way to Chicago."
"No way."
"Seriously. Back to the kit-free life. My ex, her snotty kids. Suburbia."
"Can't see it. You, Jaguar -"
He sighs. "Me either. I got to her driveway at three in the morning. Just sat there, thinking. Kiss her ass, get a fuckin' job. Let her kids walk all over me." A big smirk comes over his face. "Or come back and fuck with ol' T-shell. So I turned the car around."
"You're gonna get every last minute of kit you missed, and then some."
"Hah," he leers. "Kit kit kit, all over you. And a whole lot more where that came from."
I shake my head in wonder. He's so deluded. I just can't wait for tonight.
"Talk is cheap," I drawl. "You want coffee?"
"Yeah," he says, and I nod. Sit down, and watch him get a mug. Those sides are so lean, so much fun, it makes me wanna whoop for joy.
"This is so cool," I say to him.
He shoots me a look. "Uh-huh. You missed my hands, huh? All over ya?"
"I think this escape attempt has addled your brain."
"T," he chuckles. "Sensitive T-shell. Kit kit. You're history. I'm back."
"Yeah. We'll see."
He sits down - and freezes. "Oh man."
I follow his eyes... to the pack. Laying there, on the table.
"Can I bum one of those?"
I can't help but grin. "Why, Jag -"
"Please?"
I have to cackle. His hand is moving slowly. Trembling. "You just drove for two days. All that time, you could've gone through a whole carton."
He moans softly. "I, uh, wanted to wait. Like it would be so much better to smoke in here." I just nod. "Even though it fuckin' drove me nuts."
"So it's true, what they say?"
"Uh-huh. Kittery knows what the hell it's doin'."
"Don't it, though."
"It just wasn't... as real. Out there." He looks at me hopefully. "So I'm seriously ready now. Gimme one."
"Get your own." I cock my head at the cupboard.
He's up like a shot. His hands get the pack open in no time flat, just like thousands of packs that came before. And that's the way I usually picture him at ease, with that smoke trailing out of his critter-nostrils. Good times.
When he's got the cigarette hanging from his lips, I lean forward and catch his wrist, just as he's pulling a lighter out of his jeans pocket. He looks at me, all puzzled.
"One sec."
"C'mon, Tortoise. Dammit -"
"Impatient kat. This is important."
He scowls, and leans back. I smile, teasing him a little bit more... "You came back to the Kittery. Kit kit, Jaguar." And he chuckles. "You know why. But named kats get only one chance to escape. And that's it. And if you want to smoke now - right now, in here - Kittery takes that as a promise. That you'll stay. Until you're kicked out - and you know as well as I do how long that can be."
"Yeah, yeah," he says.
"Yeah, yeah yourself. This is your last chance to run back to suburbia. Before you smoke that. Take the pack and get out now, if you're going. You got it? Or else you're Kittery property ag-"
"If I smoke," he says. Full of attitude. Eyes bright.
"Yeah. Kittery owns you, then."
And he lights up.
"Oh, yeah!" I shout. "Good going. You are mine."
Jag is sucking in with the most blissed-out expression I've ever seen, outside of the pit or the cells. The groan of pleasure sounds a lot like he does when he's getting worked up to a cum-shot that's a couple hours overdue. I don't know how I'm going to keep my hands off him until the pit-door is locked. He's one seriously happy wolf, now that he's smoking again.
"Welcome back. Kit kit kit kit."
"Oh, wow," he laughs. "I gotta say... this is the best cigarette I've ever had."
"A deal's a deal. Just signed your life away."
"Some life. I'm gonna stay around to kit kit kit you until you pass out. Every damn night."
"Brain damage," I laugh. "That's what escaping did for you."
"Aaaah." He looks at the clock. "What is it, nine hours away? Until I tear you apart?"
I shake my head. "You'll be busy."
"Huh?"
"Reorientation."
He grimaces. Jaguar forgot! How excellent. But he recovers quickly, and manages an odd smile. "Fuck... me."
"Oh, yeah. A little warmup," I say, with a big grin. "It's only three hours. And then -"
"Kit kit," he snickers.
"All over you. All night."
"I think your memory's totally gone, T-shell."
"Nnnaaaah."
He leans back, taking another enormous drag. "Too many years in the pit. That's what it is. But I'm gonna take... oh, five or six hours to help you remember. Your vacation is over, kitty-kat. Kit kit kit kit the T-kat. And that's you. Your nightmare kitter is back. Gonna deal with you properly. Every fuckin' night."
"Kit kit kit kit kit," I chant, promising him the best kind of agony.
"Nope," he barks. "But first, I'm gonna smoke. I don't wanna be anywhere else. Right here."
"Good, 'cause you're not getting away again. You'll get to smoke in your cell."
"I'm gonna need a nap, before I kit ya."
"Keep wishing. That's all the more fun when reality slaps you upside the head. You, and me. In the pit. Full shift, every time."
"Can't wait."
"You can do your penalty time in... cell six. You remember which one that is, right?"
He laughs, and flips me off.
"Okay. You'd better get yourself in there, uh, before four."
He glances at the clock. "Half a pack, almost."
I laugh. "Same ol' Jaguar. Damn, it's good to see ya."
He leers up at me. "You too. Same old Tortoise-shell. It's such a fuckin' relief to be back..."
That leaves me about forty-five minutes to get a bunch of work done. I order pizza and a bunch of deli stuff, because it's my night to cook dinner and now I have something far better to do.
My Jaguar's in cell six. Suffering like the animal he is. Howling, and roaring. He sweats so much the pad is all wet...
I sit in front of the monitors and watch, smoking like a fiend. Oh, it's spectacular. He hasn't been kitted for a good two weeks. All that tension. It'll be a mindblowing time in the pit tonight.
Jag pulled and strained at his cuffs, out of his mind with pleasure. But now he can't move at all anymore. Smooth fingers keep randomizing the tempo of the strokes.
Kit him real good, I think. Harder. Oh, yeah.
That tremendous feral protest fills his cell.
He's so reactive, it would be a crime if he did get away. Living out there - no, just existing. Taking brats to Pop Warner football practice, instead of long smoke breaks in the pit. Having to pretend he's a reformed character, role model, scout troop leader. That's not the Jaguar I know.
Kit kit kit kit.
I love listening to Jag. Watching him twitch. Armpits tortured, sides tortured, belly tortured. Cuffed down. Back to stay. Hearing this inhuman yowling again is like my reward for sticking around here, so Jag has a place where he'll get exactly what he deserves.
So wild. And he thinks there's any chance the whole night won't be like this? I can't wait to see the look on his face...
A box appears in the center of the big monitor, white text on red:
HEY T - AFTER BREAK J'S PAWS NEED SERIOUS THERAPY. GO TAUNT HIM. - K
I just laugh out loud.
He opens his eyes right away, as the door swings in...
Worried expression. That's so nice.
Right before I came in I snagged a pair of gloves from the pit, and he can't stop looking at them. The first inhabited fingers he's seen in an hour. I move them slowly, and take a calm drag.
"How are you doing, Jaguar?"
"No," he says immediately. Reflex. "I don't know why the fuck I came back here."
I chuckle, and walk over. Looking down on him. "Sure you do. The pit."
He thinks hard. "Oh. Yeah."
"Yeah."
Where I'm gonna kick your ass."
Well, all I can do is roll my eyes. "Before then, you get two more hours of special conditioning -"
"Shit."
"And I guess you're not gonna smoke after all, huh?"
"Please. Dude. Gimme one."
I laugh louder. "Poor little kat. Stuck tight..." I look around. "Hey, Kittery. I'll bet Jag's feet have been stuck in boots for the past couple weeks. Ignored."
And it was ready. The closet door opens silently. Two trays float in. White lacquer...
A nice selection of creams and toys.
We both watch as the trays land on the carpeted floor, right by each foot.
Jaguar whines and lunges around. Rubber gloves rise and firm up, dipping their fingers in an unlabeled plastic jar. One of Kittery's secret formulas. Thick, greyish... and destined for his soles.
"A nice, long massage," I tell Jag - and crack myself up.
He squints at me - with that "oh, shit" expression of his - until the gloves start in again. Then the squeals explode out of him. Poor kat.
No matter how determined his legs are, the cuffs keep him down. Kittery smears the cream slowly, toes to heels, and I watch the gloves go back for more.
Another pair starts inflating, new magic fingers starting to wake up.
"You're so dead," he says again.
I flip him off.
Almost too excited to eat - but I know better than that. We all load up, because there's nothing worse than being in the pit and running out of energy. Civet didn't seem surprised to hear Jag is back. I could almost see him thinking of what he was gonna do...
Ocelot and Puma were happy. And Lynx. Everybody likes Jaguar. He's built to kit, and yet he's such a total basket case when the tables are turned - as they will be soon enough, when I get him cornered. Oh, yeah.
Cheshire came a little early, and he's almost as eager as I am. With the new guy, we got our octet. Ready to do it.
The pit door opens...
Seven kats walk on in. The new guy is carried by a dozen Kittery-gloves. He wrestles around, cussing at them - and at us.
It's his second night in the pit. He knows pretty much how it's going to go, for him. Until Kittery breaks down his resistance, he doesn't get a name. I think he'll sign on. He doesn't seem to be the type who can hold out forever. And he's a gymnast, certainly worth a long kit kit kit. It would be a shame to lose him.
But that's not my problem, and right now I'd much rather think about Jag's armpits. He looks all rested, after his nap. Kittery fed him and cleaned him up...
There's nothing human about that wild look in his eye. Or that leer.
"Mine," he barks - right at me.
"Keep on dreaming," I shoot back.
Our collars light up. We only wear them in the pit. This is the Jaguar I remember, I think happily. Seeing that warm light under his chin makes my cock throb. How many nights have we done this? Comfortable, familiar - intense. Here in this big padded box, all cozy, dim light, smoky haze, and Jaguar's cold blue eyes studying me...
We all start out at yellow, of course. The scoring system is incredibly complicated, and Kittery cheats all the time anyway. But I long to get Jaguar down to orange, then red, violet, a nice deep blue - and finally the light will shut off and he'll be kit-meat for the rest of the night, perfectly helpless, right in my hands.
I shift my codpiece while I can, because after the fun starts it's a half-hour penalty if I touch it. Like all the named kats, my cup is fitted to my meat. Not so tight that I can cum, of course. The piss is stored until break time, and there's gentle pressure in my asshole...
Oh, that Jaguar. Looking good enough to kit. His grin gets a little bigger -
Opening chime. Finally.
Like before, the obsessionattitudehungerfocus suddenly wraps around my brain... like a helmet. Clicking into place, the excitement shoots into my hands. Right down to my toes. All eight of us jump a little as the pit-mood takes over. We're not the same old ordinary kats. I'm determined to waste Jaguar like never before.
Kittery wants us to have fun. It watches us - and helps us kit each other - enjoying this more than all of us put together. So we'll kit hard, and sleep hard, and do it all again.
The new guy has a dangerously happy look. He wants to kit as much as the rest of us.
We all start moving -
And go for the new guy.
And it takes all seven of us to pin the jock down. I have to watch these kats, and their hands. But they're just as wary of me. Snickering, giggling...
Of course he protests - and pleads. But do we stop? Not on your life.
I end up with his right leg, and Kittery's gloves pin it down for me. I kit his thigh and rub his shin slowly - and just attack his knee. My reward is an incoherent little scream, a lot of flailing around...
But Kittery's got him immobilized.
His collar turns orange.
Jaguar tears into his left armpit, and Puma catches on, mirroring the attack. The new guy's collar soon changes to red...
With all seven of us working him over, and Kittery making sure he can't budge at all, we turn his collar off within the first ten minutes. That's the breaks, when you're new to the pit. You gotta get nuked all night and watch the kats play.
We all get up, and Kittery carries him to a padded bench. I expect he'll be cuffed down there for the rest of the night, carefully rubbed, available for any kat who can reach him and wants the points. Clear view of almost the whole pit, so he can watch us get busy - but he's out of commission again. New guys. I mean, really.
Seven kats size each other up. It's a odd number, on purpose. Ocelot and Lynx have a running feud, and so do Cheshire and Puma. And Jaguar is my favorite target, come back to the pit so I can torment him real nice.
But I know Civet is gunning for him too - and we nod at each other. A temporary truce, in order to take down Jag.
I feel absolutely wonderful.
"Leash," Jag says, pointing at me.
"Trip-rope!" Civet yells, cackling.
I feel the tug at my collar, even as I watch Jag's feet get swept out from under him. I get pulled down to my knees -
Almost before he lands, I've got his ankles. The rope is already winding around his shins. With a whoop, I slam his legs down on the padded leather floor and get ready to kneel on him -
But the leash whips around, and slaps into his right hand.
"No way," he says - and then Civet attacks his belly, making him hoot. But he gives the leash a jerk, and I land right next to him.
His left hand gets into my armpit, and I can't pull far enough away. Insane fire makes it hard for me to think.
Civet is picking up some nice points. Calling for a trick cost him, and Jag. But I'm probably going to orange, the way Jaguar's kitting -
Civet screeches. Black gloves are clamped around his biceps, squeezing a little. Kittery is evening the score a bit. His legs are extended and laid across Jag's chest.
Jag and I, we look at each other. And laugh. We each get a foot...
Handcuffs float down and catch Civet. Very nice. As he flails, we just drill him. Toes, midfoot, heel. That works - my leash is removed, and the rope unwinds from Jaguar's legs.
Civet's collar goes to red.
Well behind us, Ocelot is manacled to the wall, leaping all around and screaming laughter. Lynx is busy on him. Rope is hogtying Puma, so I guess Cheshire used a trick...
Solid excitement everywhere I look.
Gloves wrap around Jag's right arm, and pull it up. Then his left. Wide open! I drop Civet's foot, and lunge -
More hands jump on me before I can touch him. Locking around my forearms.
We both get pulled up - well off the ground. So we kit each other with our feet...
Until Cheshire finds the sight too tempting, and runs over to kit Jaguar's armpits. Lynx comes for me. Intense, blurry, electrifying.
But then Ocelot attacks Lynx, and Puma pulls Cheshire down to the floor.
The gloves let go of Jag - but not me. He growls and takes advantage of the situation.
It's a long, electrifying time. I get Civet, Cheshire gets Ocelot. Jaguar, kicking wildly, as a straitjacket wraps him up - and I want nothing more than to get at him, but Puma uses a trick and has Kittery drag me to the hanging-sling...
Ocelot, busy at the new guy's feet.
Jaguar's collar goes purple when he tackles Cheshire and orders a feather-swarm. Purple! But I'm tied to a chin-up bar, and Lynx is oiling me up ruthlessly.
Civet is spread-eagled on the floor. Kittery-hands slide all over him.
Kittery finally drags Lynx over to the netting. Jag is still busy with Cheshire - so I sneak over to the gymnast and straddle his chest. Hard, fast kit. Big fun. And Kittery's got my feet, but I keep howling and I don't let go of the new guy. There's extra points for sitting on top of another kat like this.
Chimes. The lights dim -
We all stare at the monitor.
The new guy is last. Of course. Cheshire is seventh.
Civet, and then me - in fifth place. Hmmmmm.
Jaguar is in second place, just behind Lynx.
But there's a good six hours left. I feel like I could kit for twice that long.
All of the kats are released, except the new guy. Feathers keep covering him, and he cackles like a fiend. New guys don't get breaks like we do. Not until they have a name. Become a kat. It's hard to lay there and watch everybody else relax, totally ignoring you, as Kittery continues making you delirious...
Two big leather bags land on the floor. We make our way over to them, laying around in a loose circle. One has bottles of water in it, and the other has snacks and tobacco.
Jaguar gets himself a cigarette and leans back, calm as his namesake in the middle of the day. I feel like having a cigar, and so does Cheshire. Civet, Ocelot and Puma pass a joint back and forth lazily.
A bottle of pills is floating out of the water-bag. Rattling.
The big computer screen changes -
+10 POINTS.
ANY TAKERS?
"Nope," Civet says immediately.
"Yeah," Jaguar snaps. He looks at Lynx.
"Dammit. OK," Lynx chortles. If he doesn't, Jag moves into the lead.
I'm fourteen points behind Ocelot, and twelve ahead of Cheshire... "Pass," I finally say. There's no telling what the pills are. That's the gamble. If they're speed, the other kats will be able to kit the rest of us harder - but they could be one of Kittery's drugs that makes me so unbelievably sensitive that I can't even stand up. Somebody will probably go out of the competition before the next break, one way or the other...
We just relax and talk. The new guy giggles mournfully, by the back wall, but no one even glances at him. He's just a few quick points to us. I think the jock is coming along real well. He's got the fever, alright. The need to kit.
But not yet. Maybe he'll get named in a day or two, and some other new guy will be hauled in.
Jag lights one smoke after the other, putting up with all the welcome-home jokes. I still owe him a good trick. He may have kitted me first, tonight, before I got to touch him - but I'll get the last hour in. When he catches me watching him, his smirk gets just a little bigger. Thinking hard, I do believe. But I liked the sight of him in that straitjacket - Kittery makes them special, with open sides, so we can slip our hands in there and get busy.
I want him back in that thing. Chained down. It's a great thought...
One-minute warning, so we get up and finish our smokes, pitching them in the spitoon that floats around. I crack my knuckles.
The chime sounds -
Strobe light.
Oh ho. It's a jampile. A glowing shape floats right to Cheshire. Oiled, squishy -
Civet grabs for it, and they go down awkwardly. The rest of us jump on, or work the perimeter...
As usual, it ends up as a pile of sweaty guys, kitting whatever body part is within reach as we dig for the squishball. Somebody gets a death-grip on my left foot, and I finally figure out it's that damn Jaguar -
The horn sounds. Ocelot has the squishball. More points - he's pulling further ahead of me.
Darkness, for a second or two. And then another chime, and the strobe light again. Another round.
I actually win two squishballs, despite the constant attacks of the other kats. Puma, Jaguar and Civet snag it once each.
Cheshire's collar is a nice medium blue.
Without even saying a word, we all stalk him. Drag him to the netting. Plenty of straps...
Ten minutes later, his collar is out. Kittery will work him over for the rest of the night, whenever one of us can't reach him and grab a few points for ourselves -
"Cuffs," Civet laughs - pointing at me!
"Stake him out," I yell, backing away from the handcuffs. I didn't expect that from Civet right now. But I won the jampile twice, so I know my collar must be at least medium-orange.
Jaguar sees that my hands are caught - and heads right over. But good old Puma slams into his back, shouting for nylon straps. That's a fairly expensive trick, and quite a gamble this early in the night.
Ocelot pins my legs and starts in on me. Kittery is taking care of Civet, and he's really coming unglued. Lynx does a real number on Cheshire's belly...
The pills. Nothing. I see no pattern, in who's kitting who. They're probably aspirin or something. But sometimes they're a downer, or a mild dose of acid - or worst of all, a muscle relaxant. Lasting about an hour, and I'd be unable to even move my arms properly as the other kits move in - and call for lots of rope.
At the next break, I move up to fourth place. Jaguar has dropped to third. The old rivalry heats up even more. Cheshire, who's out, is uncuffed for breaks. He seems oddly relaxed and wound up at the same time. He's pure kit-meat now, and if it isn't one of us kats it'll be Kittery having fun with him. But the competition is off his mind. Until tomorrow night, anyway.
"I don't wanna b-be here!" the jock croaks from his bench. "Nnnnaah hah haah huh huh huh huh..."
Flat on his back, Civet just snorts quietly. "There? No. He wants to be over here, with us kats."
"Say that," Ocelot sighs.
My balls throb, but naturally I'm used to that.
A elbow bumps into my arm. I look over and see Jaguar staring me down. "Kit kit. Fuckin' punk."
"Kit kit kit... bigfoot."
They gang up on me, and call for the stocks. That's bad. Hands caught that firmly, you can't kit back. Good thing nobody wanted to risk any more points right then.
My attackers start jumping each other. Dragged away, one by one.
When Jaguar gets loose, he strides right back to me. Eyes on fire, grinning that grin.
Lynx also took a major hit, in that last round. Ocelot is on top now. Jag is second.
"A nice shade of purple, there," Civet laughs, cocking a thumb at the general area of my collar.
"Thanks," I laugh. He tends to exaggerate, trying to make other kats nervous.
Jaguar looks at me thoughtfully. After knowing him this long, I have no doubt what's on his mind as he sits there, taking another drag. He can be as ruthless as Kittery itself, almost.
A chill runs through me. Fear.
I like it.
My strategy is to keep moving. People naturally go for easier targets. While the other kats are busy battling each other, I enjoy thirty blazing seconds on Cheshire's feet, a long minute all over the jock's legs.
But Kittery doesn't put up with evasion for very long, and I get dragged to the floor and kitted slowly by about a dozen hands. It's setting me up, and I can't move.
"Yeah," Puma says, when he sees me. "Rack him."
So I end up almost vertical, but with my hands way up there. Out of the action. That's no good.
"Chair," I say, smiling at him with my teeth.
His expression changes. I really like that. They tend to forget the simple tricks...
Both of his arms are pulled behind his back, and a heavy wooden chair floats behind him. Down he goes. Since I'm not out of the game yet and my hands are stuck, Kittery ties him down and starts in on his feet. But it's also got fingers crawling up to my armpits.
Jaguar comes over, panting happily. I'm in trouble...
But Puma is nodding at me. I get it. He wants the points.
Crouching a little, Jag kits my feet with one hand, and reaches back to play with Puma's belly. One happy kat.
But I'm about to wipe that smile off his face. I really have to concentrate to speak... "F-feet way up!," I yell. If this doesn't work, it's really gonna cost me -
Kittery brings over the ministocks right away, as if it's been eager for one of us to ask for 'em. Jag goes up in the air suddenly, and gloves shove his ankles together. The padded iron bars close, and - wonderfully - he gets turned upside down. His grasping fingers are pulled off me and Puma.
"What the hell," Puma says, winking at me. "Padlock." I nod enthusiastically.
Jag rises until his feet are not that far away from the ceiling. Sturdy rings, up there... getting four thick chains clipped to the bars. And then the padlock!
He flails around uselessly. Roaring. Dark gloves kit and kit his feet. The only real drawback is that I can't reach 'em. But they're staying there, trapped, where he can't do a damn thing about Kittery's fingers.
My hands are released eventually. So are Puma's. Our feet are still caught - but Jag is within our reach.
Puma is closer, and he starts tormenting Jaguar's belly-button. "Kit kit kit," he teases.
Incredibly, even though he's laughing his guts out, Jaguar manages to say, "D-dusterrrrr." And one flies at Puma, skipping all over him. He can't even keep his hands on Jag now.
I reach forward with my left hand and snag his elbow. I've got him. My right hand is almost in his armpit -
But he gets a death-grip on my arm, and slaps my hand away. Swinging - and I have to think he was helped by Kittery - he gets my other arm. Now I can't kit him. And I want to, so badly...
But it dawns on me that all I really have to do is keep him stretched out. So I get a good grip on both of his forearms... and sit back down.
Stretched out, howling, he can't get me. Sadly, I can't kit him - but I know somebody else who can.
"Duster," I say, looking at his frantic head.
Yes.
All up and down him, the feathers are skillfully applied. Kittery's gloves just tear into his arches...
His collar is a nice dark red.
The only drawback is that we locked him up there fairly late in the round. If only we'd had another six or seven minutes...
Civet is in the lead, and Jaguar drops to third. I'm in fourth. Sure, I scored pretty well, but the tricks cost me some real points. It was worth it just to see Jaguar stuck like that.
We rest up, and shoot the shit. The computer display interrupts us -
A grid of numbers. And a black envelope floats over the water bag.
It's the K-down.
One of us will be spread-eagled on the floor until the next break. Easy to get at - but Kittery will also be protecting him more aggressively than usual. Twenty bonus points, but it's still a pretty sure way to drop a place or two in the rankings. Ocelot or Puma will be history if they get it.
We each pick numbers between 1 and 100 - until the fourth time around, when Lynx says "83."
The envelope is tossed to him.
"Aw, fuck," he yells. The rest of us laugh. He opens the envelope - and sure enough, there's a big card with 83 written on it. And he's in second place...
But not for long.
Uh-huh. Like a machine, Jaguar goes right for Lynx's feet. Gloves are laying into Jaguar something fierce. He roars and roars - and the kat just stays there, hunched over, kitting away.
Ocelot kneels down and runs Lynx's left side, and I mirror him on the right.
It only takes a few minutes to turn his collar off.
Barely pausing for breath, Jag pounces on Ocelot's ankles and calls for a brush-storm. Ocelot's collar is soon purple...
I look at Jag's back, weighing the opportunity. But he's driven. I doubt I can kit him hard enough to get him off Ocelot, the way he's going at it.
Civet is in the swing, so I run over and kit his feet as hard as I can.
The amazing thing is, Kittery lets me.
Ocelot's out. And Puma's wearing a very dark blue.
I'm in second place now.
My rival is on top of the board, and smug as he can be.
The chimes sound again - and the whole pit is bathed in ultraviolet light. I hear a new sound... Violent wind.
Uh-oh. It's a cyclone.
Dozens of gloves racing around. It's hard to move anywhere, much less kit each other. All those fingers latching on. At least Puma won't be around much longer.
Gloves brush past, and some get a grip on me. They kit for a while, and fly off - but there's always more landing...
As I crawl across the floor, shrieking my guts out, I bump into a pair of feet. Gloves have the ankles pinned down tight, and some major kit is underway. For a wild second I think maybe they belong to Jaguar! How wonderful...
But no, it's Civet.
Somehow, I find the concentration to sit on his shins. No movement is going to get the gloves off me anyway. I can't possibly kit him yet, so I try not to squirm as much as I'd like.
Finally, the cyclone ends.
"Bigball," I gasp. If I can't finish him off, first place is pretty much out of reach -
A soft black sphere floats over Puma. He's so out of it, he doesn't fight at all. His right hand is stuck inside the foam, and then the left. A faint click - and he can't pull his hands out.
He does pound on me, with the ball, as I crawl up and straddle his hips. But that's to be expected. I kit his torso, feeling invigorated. Puma can't stop laughing, and he doesn't have the points to call for a decent trick anyway.
Within a few minutes, his collar goes dead.
"Gag." A low voice, behind me. I turn -
Jaguar, panting. A gag is the most expensive trick, but he can afford it.
A smaller ball is wedged between my teeth. The strap flies around the back of my head, buckling in no time.
"Yes," he chuckles. Now I can't call out tricks. If it was anyone except Jaguar...
But he knows me too well. It's all over. He turns me around and starts squeezing my ribs.
"Maybe a nice strap. Upper arms. Heh."
And it pulls me down, whipping a band of leather round and round me. I can't lift myself off the padded floor now.
Jag straddles my hips. This kat knows how to drive me absolutely insane. Exactly where to kit, and how to do it.
"Kit kit kit kit kit," he croons. "Finally. Tortoiseshell. You're all mine."
These same old hands, back on me again. Slow. Merciless.
Kittery lets him nuke me for another minute or two - even after I hear that hearty cackle which means my collar has gone out. That isn't exactly fair.... I mean, he's already won. But I'm in no position to do anything about it.
During the last break we're all quieter. Jaguar doesn't say much of anything. He looks content, sitting here, cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. He just belongs in the pit, dammit, more than any other place...
And now he's going to get his victory lap.
The new guy gets to watch, if he can keep his eyes open. But the rest of us are Jag's playthings.
Jaguar can use all the tricks he wants, now. He pulls on a pair of leather gloves. Smooth and black...
Cheshire is carried to the swing.
Ocelot and Lynx end up on racks, side by side. Their rivalry will have to wait until tomorrow, because they're brothers in suffering now.
Civet is manacled to the wall.
Puma's feet and hands are chained way up. Two straps support him, as he hangs face-down. It's a very helpless way to be restrained.
There's only one likely destination for me. Jaguar grins bigger, and beckons me with a quick finger. "You. Right this way."
The stocks. He didn't forget...
Leather cuffs keep my wrists way out. We're all bound with leather now. That's normal, for the cells - but in the pit it means something special. Kittery saves leather for the new guy... and finally for the losers. They're the restraints that won't come off. The message is that the night's outcome is final. We are staying down, for the kit of the Jaguar. And he will remain in charge. He's won that right.
And I still want to attack his armpits so badly I can't believe it. Well, maybe tomorrow.
When I'm caught, Jaguar wanders over to the jock. Leaning down...
They exchange a few words. The new guy finally nods his head enthusiastically -
And his wrist-cuffs start coming off.
It's typical of the generosity - and the unbelievable sadism - of my Jaguar. No wonder I missed him so much.
We all watch. The new guy finally sits up, rubbing his hands. A cigar floats over to him, and he accepts it. He doesn't smoke - well, before he was caught he didn't smoke. I bet he gets named tomorrow, if he kits with the kind of intensity I think he will. Obviously Jag's going to let him help with our torture. Another pair of eager hands... pulling on gloves of his own. He looks wiped, but the gymnast kicks out smoke and leers at us. It's the happiest I've seen him since he got here.
Jag swaggers to the middle of the room. A new cigarette floats to his hand.
"Codpieces... off," he announces. "No cumshots."
We all groan. But Kittery unlocks my urinal/butt-plug/chastity belt anyway. It and Jaguar are going to have some fun now. I'm always surprised at how unbelievably long this final hour can be.
Jag walks over to Cheshire. "Duster-storm," he laughs.
Brushes and nipple-clamps for Civet.
A big crowd of rubber-tipped probes - and knee-high panty hose - for Ocelot and Lynx. We often put nylons on Lynx, because the sensation really makes him come unhinged.
Puma gets oiled gloves. The new guy is handed a stick with a feather on it, and immediately he starts kitting Puma's balls. Puffing happily on the cigar...
They're all howling away.
Jaguar walks slowly to me, taking a long drag. More wolf than human. Dangerous. And yet, his intensity is so perfectly controlled -
"T-shell," he sighs. "Have a smoke."
Surprised, I watch a pack and lighter come over.
"Stretching it out, huh?" I mutter, after I've had a couple drags.
He watches me calmly. "Gonna take this cigarette away when you really need it the most."
"Ah. I can't believe you didn't touch your codpiece all night -"
Before I can even finish, he staggers dramatically. Hooting at the ceiling. "Oh, shit. You have no idea how hard that was! After scratching my balls any time I wanted, the past couple weeks." We both chuckle at that, and smoke. He grabs his cock and points it at me, with an even bigger smile on his face. "But I won. So I get to do this. And you don't."
"Do what? Hold a cocktail weiner?"
"Funny," he says, and then he gets all businesslike. "But now, I get to remind you of something important. I won. I usually win. That's the reward for all the extra time Kittery puts in on my ass, during the day... And you have a real problem remembering how things are. Don't you, little T-shell?"
And sometimes I do get fuzzy, about some things. "Uh -"
"It makes you forget," Jaguar chuckles. "What really happens. You have to keep up the front. Right? The figurehead. That's why it wanted a guy with a bunch of letters after his name. Psychologist. So Kittery waited until you got your license - and then it reeled you in here. You're so much fuckin' fun to kit, dude. But it also had to have a front guy. The legitimate director of the Kittery. Dealing with the suits, when you have to. Keepin' all those fuckin' busybodies away." He looks around. "Spiritual retreat. Private funding... Hah."
"No - now, just wait," I finally stammer.
"But it's different in the pit. I get to kit kit kit kit ya. And you get to dream about kitting me. Never getting enough time on my feet, are ya?" He laughs at the thought. "But you like the tension. Everybody knows that. And it's okay. Some are meant to be the victims..."
He steps closer.
"And Jaguar... He's your top kat."
I nod my head slowly.
"Yeah. You know it's true. But later, you'll forget. Spend all day wishing you had Kittery's hands. Playing with me. That's the deal..."
He sighs, shaking his head a little. There's something almost sad, in that grin. The look in his eyes - I think he feels sorry for me, because I'm not him. And there is no other kat I'd rather trade places with right now. He knows that. I think it makes him even happier.
He came back to the Kittery. To me.
"Buff him," he says quietly. "The little pads."
And they start showing up. Four, six, eight. Fur disks, maybe three inches across, soaked with oil. Kittery does something to the fur, and all the cloth, that protects it from the oil somehow. And the sweat.
"Kit kit, my T-shell," he taunts, and he turns away.
My cigarette is taken away, and the buffers start to spin.
Ravaging my sides, my feet, chest and belly, thighs...
I'm vaguely aware of Jaguar wandering around the room. Kitting some feet here, squeezing some knees over there.
The new guy makes the circuit too, laughing wildly as he comes up to me.
His technique is crude, but he's clearly hooked.
Six of us hoot and whoop and scream, writhing until we're too tired to move. But the kitting continues. Oh, yeah. Bragging rights.
The pounding fire is stepped up, now and then, by a pair of human hands. I can tell the difference even through the leather. And they don't hold back at all.
I can tell without even looking when it's Jaguar. Ribs - then sliding down to my hips... over to scratch gently around my meat. Back to my belly.
It's so intense I can't even laugh anymore.
Cigarette smoke.
A satisfied growl.
When I wake up, I jerk off twice. The first one is violent, and the next time it's just impossibly... great. Through and through. So I'm feeling real good when I finally get up and take a shower.
Kittery cooks breakfast for us. A big spread...
Puma and Lynx are already there, talking. We nod at each other. Civet finally comes in, and he looks wiped out. The rest of us joke around, and he sasses right back.
"Kit," Ocelot barks, walking in.
"Kit you," Lynx says automatically. More threats go back and forth. We're always in a great mood in the morning. Cheshire isn't here because he always goes right home, after a long shower. He's married, and his wife is nice enough. They seem to be nuts about each other. She might actually buy the whole cover story. Not the sharpest tack in the box. Some of these kats have had girlfriends that decided the Kittery is some kind of gay sex palace, but not Cheshire's wife. He's certainly the model dad whenever he's not here. I know he's told her some of the "retreat" exercises are strenuous. Male bonding. And I gather she doesn't ask too many questions, when he brings all that lust home to her...
And, of course, Kittery caught Cheshire as soon as he got the job - the only health and safety inspector in this underpopulated county. So he was no stranger to the pit long before she married him. Now he only gets to come here on Friday nights, poor kat. Some holidays. And most weeks he'll spend an afternoon in one of the cells.
If he wasn't in a position to protect the Kittery from all the bureaucratic garbage, I bet it would've been discovered years ago -
The jock walks in, smoking a cigar.
"Well, well," Ocelot says. "Who are you?"
"You can call me... Tabby," he grins. And he's blushing!
We all cheer, and slap him on the back. Since Cheshire won't be back tonight, Kittery must have already caught another new guy. I'll bet he's in one of the cells right now, being broken in. Excellent.
A few minutes later, Jaguar makes his entrance. We boo him, and call him names. He just rolls his eyes and gets another cigarette going. He needs at least two cups of coffee before he can eat...
"Pussy-kats," he finally says. Looking at me, he adds a quick nod. Arrogant as anything.
"So good to have you back," I tell him.
"Same here. So... Do you remember? What I told you last night?"
I cock my head. "Huh?"
He looks away. Shrugs. "Forget it."
"No, what are y-"
"Never mind. Not important now."
"Maybe you'll tell me. Later," I add sadistically.
A couple seconds pass - it's so cool - and his head snaps up. "Later?"
"Yeah," I say, reaching for more bacon. "You know. Winner's workout."
Oh, yeah. His face changes - hunted, scared. He completely forgot! He always does. "No."
"Would I kid you about a thing like that?" I say, with a smile. And he doesn't know what to say. It's a treat to see him this confused.
He gets worked over almost every day. More than anyone else. And Kittery makes him forget, so I get these terrific moments when the cold, hard facts slam home. Back he goes, after breakfast, into one of the cells. Kittery and Jaguar. Then a long, refreshing nap...
And the pit.
I'm absolutely determined to get him in the stocks tonight. Trade places. Make him squeal.
After he's strapped down, I wander in. Smoking, of course, because he can't - not until Kittery lets him. Poor Jaguar fidgets, not looking all that happy about the long hours ahead.
"Goin' in to town," I tell him. "You want anything?"
He groans.
Behind me, the door closes quietly. I spin around and look at it.
"Kit kit," he giggles. "Ya dumb fuck."
"What?"
Gloves latch on to me, and start pulling off my jacket.
"Winner's workout," he says menacingly. "Wanna join me?"
"No! It's... You get nuked now."
"And ol' T-shell's gonna get it too," he says. "If I can't get out of this... So I made a deal on the side."
That stops me. Oh, no. The gloves start wrapping cuffs around my wrists. "How many points?"
"Seventy."
I can't believe what I just heard. "You're kidding me."
Kittery pulls my jeans down, and relieves me of my boots.
"Nope." A cigarette floats up to his mouth...
My socks are tugged off. "Seventy points down? You'll never gonna make that up tonight. You'll lose."
"Probably." He pauses as a lighter gets his smoke lit. "But it's worth it. Watching Kittery work you over, right up close -"
"You're insane."
"Okay, doc..." And he laughs.
My shirt is pulled up and over my head. A new cigarette is stuck between my lips.
Kittery's gloves strap us back to back, hands way up toward the ceiling, and then it carries us to the magically opening door.
"I'm gonna get you for this," I promise Jaguar.
"No, you won't."
Kittery takes us into the hall -
"Hey!," Civet says. "Alright." And he laughs. Jaguar and I struggle, but we float along anyway, stretched out and a good six inches off the floor. Jag's facing forward, so I get to see Civet in the kitchen, keys in hand, cackling at us.
"I'm gonna go to Hal's," Civet tells me. "Watch the game, see if I can get laid. Kittery - you make these guys have a hell of a good time..."
We bob up and down, a little, and Civet laughs harder.
Cell three. We're carried inside. It's got two of everything. I wonder how many times Jaguar and I have ended up like this - and probably made to forget most of 'em afterward. Racks, foot-to-foot. Or the stocks. Watching the other guy get shredded. The slings are already hung and waiting, so I think that's in our immediate future for sure.
Yeah, we've spent a lot of time together in the cells.
I don't want to be here, but I never get tired of seeing Jaguar get it... up close. After a while it's almost as if I was magical, just like Kittery, doing whatever I want to him.
One or two cumshots ahead. No doubt about it. And he gets so fuckin' overwhelmed by the kit that follows -
Jaguar bumps my head with his. "Gotcha."
"Yeah," and I have to giggle, remembering what kind of afternoon is in store for him. And me, now. "But the price is high."
The gloves separate us and hang us from the ceiling. Nose-to-nose, and just far enough away that we can't flail around and bump into each other. How many times...?
Our ankles are held snugly, and Kittery lifts just a little - so it doesn't hurt our arms to be dangling like this. We're all so used to being hung up, anyway.
Jag stares at me as if I was the last hamburger on earth. Inhuman blue eyes.
"Kit kit kit," I tell him.
He laughs out loud. "After you."
What?
The gloves start in - on my feet. They make me jump around, pull and twist. Dancing for them. I lose the cigarette and whoop loud.
Jaguar watches me. Grinning...
But he's not laughing. No gloves on him. Oh, now, wait a minute here. This isn't fair.
"Kih hih hee hee heeeee!"
"What's that?" he teases. "Huh?"
I scream laughter, bucking from side to side.
"Suffer for me," Jaguar says. "Just like that."
"Noooooo hooo hooo hooooo..."
I'm going nuts, but Jaguar calmly takes another drag - and blows the smoke in my face.
"Kih... Unnnnh k-kah hah haaaaheeeee," I yell. Double-crossed. By Kittery. Trapped...
Its fingers roam all over me, and I thrash around.
And Jaguar gets to have another cigarette.
The fever is threatening to take over. If it does, I wouldn't put it past Kittery to let Jaguar just watch. I have to do something.
Call it. That's what will work. But it's getting harder and harder to think.
It takes me a long time - maybe two unbearable minutes - to say that single word. "K-kittery-eeeeee hee heeeee..."
The gloves eventually stop.
"Get... J-Jaguar. Kit him."
And we both know Kittery doesn't have to do what I tell it, ever -
But a pack of gloves starts approaching Jaguar from behind.
Whew. Now I can put up with this impossible kit, so long as I can watch him howl his guts out too. Right in front of me. This is so fuckin' great.
When the first pair slides around his triceps, startling Jaguar, he grunts quickly and grits his teeth.
"Kuh huh k-kit kit, Jagwhoooaaah hah haw haaaaawww," I shout.
"Kit kit kuunnh k-keeee hee heeaaah aaaah haw haaaaw," he yells back.
Kittery 2 (by Patchwork)
06sep03